


Diggin' Up Bones

by TheNightComesDown



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Canada, Dinosaurs, Drumheller, F/M, Jurassic Park References, Science Boyfriends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-07-07 16:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19855594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: Having just earned the title of 'Doctor of Palaeontology', you start a new job as a paleobotanist with the famed Royal Tyrrell Museum in Alberta, Canada. Your heart skips a beat every time you find yourself in the same room as Dr. Tim Murphy - but you get the feeling that there's something about his past he's not sharing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title of this fic inspired by an old Randy Travis song my dad used to play in the car all the time.

With the ink on your Ph.D. barely dry, you walked into the Royal Tyrrell Museum of Palaeontology at 8:00am sharp for your first day of work. You’d had several interviews, and as such, knew where to find the reception desk for the research department of the museum.

In order to reach the office area, you had to walk past a number of large exhibits. All the rooms were empty now, because the museum wouldn’t open for another hour yet. A shiver of excitement ran up your spine as you saw a replica of a Tyrannosaurus skeleton suspended from the ceiling of one the rooms. Since you were a young girl, you’d been fascinated by fossils – and now, here you were, starting a research position with one of the most prestigious palaeontology facilities in the world. It was truly a dream come true. 

When you passed through the doors into the main section of the research office, the receptionist, a greying woman in her late fifties, greeted you at the desk. She indicated a small bowl of candies, and invited you to help yourself. By the looks of the nearly empty bowl, you guessed that people tended to help themselves _quite_ generously. She retrieved a file folder from a drawer in her desk, and passed you a lanyard with a scan card attached so you could access the building and offices after hours, or when they were locked. 

“Your office is right this way,” the stout woman directed, leading you down a short corridor towards a door with a window, whose shade was drawn. She withdrew a scan card from her pocket and knocked firmly on the door. After knocking a second time and receiving no response, she tapped the card on the reader above the door handle, and a gentle _click_ indicating that the lock had turned. 

“Sorry about Dr. Murphy’s…clutter,” the receptionist, Norma, apologized as she pushed the door open. “He’s a brilliant man, but a bit scatterbrained at times. Always running off to figure out the answer to something.” 

The office was of fairly standard size, containing two desks positioned side-by-side against the back wall. One desk was clear of any papers or knick-knacks, and the other was a near explosion of file-folders, books, and other research paraphernalia. For some reason, even a light microscope was set up on the desk, with a large box of slides set out beside it. In the corner of the room, paying absolutely no attention to the fact that he had visitors, was the man whose name had been engraved in the small metal name plate beside the door: Dr. Timothy Murphy, Ph.D., Palaeontologist. 

“Dr. Murphy,” Norma said, clearing her throat. Still, he appeared unaware of your presence. “Dr. Murphy!” The receptionist nearly shouted. Startled, the man’s gaze snapped toward the direction of the door and noticed the two of you. 

“Sorry, Norma. Shoot, I’m so sorry,” he apologized profusely; tipping the glasses perched atop his head down onto the bridge of his nose. “Completely got distracted. I’ll have the document submitted to you by the end of the day…” he trailed off, his eyes meeting yours. Until now, he hadn’t registered that a second person was in the room. “Oh. This isn’t about the research proposal, is it?” The receptionist shook her head and smiled patiently. She stretched an arm back and ushered you forward, presenting you to Dr. Murphy. 

“This is Dr. L/N, who will be taking over for Dr. King,” she explained. You gave an awkward little wave in greeting, to which Dr. Murphy replied with a soft smile. “You’ll have to keep your things to your side of the room, now that you’re sharing the office again, you hear?” Norma’s voice held a note of teasing, and by the way Dr. Murphy’s cheeks flushed pink, you guessed that he had been spoken to about this subject before. 

“Scout’s honour, Norma,” he promised. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Norma said decidedly. “If you can take a short break from whatever mischief you’re up to, would you mind showing Dr. L/N the kitchen and supply rooms, please? I’ve got some faxes that need to be sent before 8:45, and I’m running a bit behind.” Dr. Murphy opened his mouth to protest, but Norma was out of the room in under a second, leaving the two of you alone together. 

Doing your best to keep a cheerful expression on your face despite the nervousness that came with meeting your new office mate, you rolled your shoulders back and hoped that your posture radiated confidence. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you were some pushover; you’d made it into this job because you were brilliant, experienced, and enthusiastic about your work, just like he had – you had earned it. It was important that he see this side of you, instead of the timidity you felt deep down. 

“Sorry, uh, I didn’t quiet catch your name,” Dr. Murphy stated, crossing the small office to shake your hand. “I’m Tim Murphy, one of the associate researchers here at the museum, as well as the site leader for one of the new digs we’ve started at the Pipestone Creek bonebed,” he explained. “But just Tim, please. I’m not nearly old enough or smart enough to be called Dr. Murphy yet, even if Norma insists.” 

“Y/N L/N,” you smiled, gripping his hand firmly. “But just Y/N.” His palms were warm and rough, indicative of the extensive amount of fieldwork he did. Tim had a kind smile, sweet brown eyes, and his mousy brown hair was dishevelled, whether by wind or lack of a comb – in short, he had a boyish charm you could appreciate. 

“I think I read the summary of your paper in _Palaeontology_ on feathered dinosaur nesting sites in southern Alberta,” you recalled, “You co-authored it with Dr. Luiz Oliviera from Rio de Janeiro, I believe?” Dr. Murphy’s eyes lit up in surprise and excitement; this was one of the more interesting projects he’d been involved with recently. 

“And what did you think?” he wondered, leaning in closer, his eyes sparkling with interest. “Fascinating subject, ichnology, isn’t it?” Ichnology, you knew, was the study of fossilized traces and tracks – signs of prehistoric biological activity such as eating, nesting, and walking. Dr. Murphy had several framed specimens and casts of his work hanging from the walls on his side of the office, including a medium-sized plaster cast of a dinosaur footprint above his desk. 

“Brilliant,” you enthused. “In fact, I’d be curious to have a look at some of the fossilized plant materials from that dig, if you have access to them.” Dr. Murphy’s eyes lit up; he tilted his head toward the door, inviting you to join him, and led you out into the hall. After checking over his shoulder to ensure you were following, he hurried down towards the office’s entrance, increasing his pace as he passed Norma’s desk. Without turning from her computer, she recognized the footsteps shuffling past, and called out to Tim. 

“Funny, that’s not the way to the kitchen _or_ the supply closet,” she said suspiciously. You could somehow hear in her tone that she had raised her eyebrows, and that she was not impressed with whatever shenanigans Dr. Murphy was up to. 

“Yeah, well, I just wanted to show Dr. L/N where we keep the, uh…file cabinets,” he lied, pasting a fake smile on his face. “Scenic tour. We’re taking the long way around, but we’ll make it to the kitchen eventually.” Norma didn’t buy his story for even a second. She let out a disapproving hum, but didn’t press him for any other information. Tim took off again, slower now that he’d already been caught and gently reprimanded. 

“What was that about?” you asked quietly once you’d made it far enough down the next hall for Norma to be unable to hear your conversation. “Are you sure we’re allowed to do this?” 

“Of course we are,” Tim assured you, chuckling. “Norma just doesn’t like when I find distractions instead of doing the things I should be doing, like submitting research proposals, or washing my dishes instead of letting them pile up on my desk.” 

“Distractions tend to be a lot more fun,” you agreed. “I’d bet a lot of discoveries have been made because of distractions and curious people like you.” 

“Wouldn’t you say you’re curious, too?” he inquired, slowing to a halt in front of a card-protected door. The scan card attached to a retractable lanyard at his hip was tapped against the scanner, and with a loud click, the door unlocked. Automatic lights activated as Tim pushed through the door, illuminating a room filled wall to wall, floor to ceiling with clear storage bins; each was labelled to indicate the specimens it contained. 

“This is incredible,” you breathed, stepping into the centre of the room to get a look at the enormity of the collection. The centre of the room sported a metal work station, set up with magnifying glasses, brushes for removing soil from artefacts, as well as a few other tools made for the detailed work that was processing specimens from dig sites. 

“Pretty neat, hey?” Tim grinned, leaning on the table. “Just wait till you see _this_.” He scanned the storage units on the wall, searching for the bin containing one of his more recent finds. A chirp of excitement escaped his throat when he located the item. You felt curiosity bubble up in your chest as you waited for him to put on a pair of latex gloves and grab a tray to keep the specimen clean. 

“Alright, so this is from the creekbed, and it’s been waiting a few months for _you_ to have a look at,” he explained, setting the tray down in front of you on the table. Your eyebrows knit together gently in confusion; you’d only signed the contract for this position 2 weeks ago – how could Tim have known you’d be coming for months? 

“For me?” you asked. 

“Well, for a paleobotanist,” he clarified. “Since Dr. King retired, we’ve been short an integral member of our team. Now that you’ve arrived, I’m sure plenty of people will be at your desk with questions and projects. Paleobotanists are a hot commodity around here, you know,” he said with a hint of teasing. 

“Well, my workstation will be open for business later today,” you promised. “Just need to get my desk organized, and set up some things with HR, and I’ll be good to go. But enough about that, let’s see what you found!” You leaned over the table and peered down at the piece of stone he had laid atop a piece of soft cloth for the preservation of the specimen. 

“Do you want a minute alone to look at it, or…” 

“I can give you some basic information just by looking at it now,” you said, bending your face closer to the tray, “but to give you an exact species name, I’ll want to compare it to some other specimens I have examples of.” Tim nodded approvingly; he appreciated anything you had to share. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” he said softly. His gentle brown eyes watched you curiously as you inspected the fossilized plant. “I’ve always thought plants had an element of grace that bones or footprints lack.” 

“It’s the patterns,” you smiled, glancing up to meet his gaze. “Leaves from a single plant can be different sizes, and can be fossilized at different angles, but they’re all essentially just replicas of each other. The repeating pattern appeals to us, makes it aesthetically pleasing.” Tim nodded slowly, contemplating your explanation. 

“This sample looks to me like it has leaves, but they’re not quite like the ones I’m used to seeing,” he told you, gesturing with his index finger at the fossil. “All I know is that this is a piece of shale, and that this plant was encased in it during what we believe is the Devonian period – we’ve had several specimens carbon-dated, and that’s about as accurate as we can get.” 

“You’re right about the shale,” you confirmed. “Devonian period sounds like a good guess, based on the stem and leaves.” You slipped a pair of gloves over your own hands and picked the piece of shale up. “I’d say this is a progymnosperm. Matches the time period. Leaves look like fern leaves, but aren’t quite the same. This plant probably still reproduced by spores instead of seeds.” Tim appeared fascinated by your assessment, even if it was only a basic explanation. 

“I have a few other pieces you could compare it with,” he offered. “How long do you think you’d need to—” 

The lock of the specimen room door beeped as a card was scanned on the other side, distracting both of you from the task at hand. The heavy door swung open, revealing one receptionist whose eyes held a disapproving squint. 

“Dr. Murphy,” she began sternly, but Tim was already halfway out the door. 

“Doing it right now,” he promised, his tone laced with guilt. “Pinky swear, it’ll be done in less than half an hour.” Tim slipped past her and hurried down the hall back to the office, leaving you alone in the room. You pasted a smile on your face as you made eye contact with Norma; it was clear she meant business. 

“Dr. L/N, I’d suggest you work on getting unpacked and filling out your payroll and tax forms before you get sucked into any projects,” Norma recommended curtly. “Dr. Murphy has been awaiting your arrival since the moment you were hired, but he isn’t the only person in this building who wants your time and attention.” You nodded sheepishly, and took one last look at the lovely fossil in your hands before returning it to the open bin along the back wall. Norma tapped her foot impatiently and waited for you to exit the room before pulling the door shut behind you. 

“I’ll be fine to walk back to the office, I promise,” you informed the woman when she continued to follow you after passing her own desk. “I remember where it is.” 

“See that you find it in good time, Dr. L/N.” 

* * * * * 

The remainder of your day went by quickly, and mainly involved meeting coworkers, and attempting to organize a stack of consult requests nearly a mile high into a manageable order. It was clear that Dr. King, your predecessor, had been in demand during his time at the Royal Tyrrell. By the end of the day, you counted no fewer than 6 urgent requests, and another 17 that would need to be answered in the next month or so. A researcher’s ability to access grant money might depend on your assessment and interpretation of the specimens they’d collected from a dig site, so it was vital that you complete these requests in a timely manner. 

When the time on your phone read 5:00, you slumped down in your chair and let out a sigh of relief. Finally, the chaos would cease – until the next morning, that is. You slung your forearm across your face and groaned at the thought of returning in only 15 hours. The work was fascinating, and you were thrilled to have the opportunity to work at such an incredible institution…but the sheer magnitude of the work that lay ahead was daunting. You were exhausted just thinking about it. 

Your desk creaked as someone leaned against it, and you removed the hand obstructing your view to see who your visitor might be. Tim, now wearing a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a blue t-shirt with the Royal Tyrrell logo emblazoned on the chest, had seated himself on the edge of your workspace. 

“So…” he said, drawing out the word, “You made it through your first day. How far is your drive home?” The question was a fair one; the museum certainly wasn’t a close distance to either major city centre in the province. Calgary was an hour and 40-minute drive, and Edmonton just over three hours. 

“I’m staying in a hotel in Strathmore until I can find something to rent,” you said, another sigh escaping your lips. “It’s not quite as far as Calgary, but still a bit of a hike. Gives me a break to think over everything I’m going to have to do tomorrow.” Tim nodded, chewing his lip thoughtfully. His expression told you that he had something to share, but that he was debating whether or not to do so. 

“If you’re worried about the commute, a few of us from work rent a house in Drumheller,” he mentioned cautiously. “We’ve got a free room at the moment, but…” 

“But?” you asked eagerly, raising your eyebrows. “But what?” The corner of Tim’s mouth turned up into a crooked smile. 

“The people I live with are kind of…specific,” he said, cringing – it was the only polite word he could think to use in place of _weird_. “It’s only guys right now, and all of us struggle a bit with the whole socialization thing.” This didn’t seem like an issue to you; you’d lived in plenty of apartments and student housing arrangements with male roommates. Tim was probably exaggerating about the other guys, too. And in your experience ‘struggles with socialization’ was another way to say ‘plays too many video games and eats a lot of ramen’. 

“But you’re really looking for another tenant?” you questioned seriously. “Drumheller’s only a 10-minute drive from here. That would be perfect!” Tim began to fidget where he sat, asking himself internally whether he should have said anything or not. 

“Well, if you want to see the place, I guess you could stop in on your way back to Strathmore today,” he offered, toying with a plastic dinosaur figurine you had set out on your desk. “I’ll call ahead and let the guys know.” 

“That sounds great, Tim,” you enthused, smiling up at him. “I really appreciate it.” Something had shifted in his demeanour, you noticed as you patted his arm in thanks. He seemed more shy and guarded than he had earlier in the day. 

“Give me a minute to phone the house, then,” he requested, slipping forward until his brown hiking boots touched the carpeted floor. He strolled towards the office door and pulled his cellphone from the pocket of his shorts, attempting to gain some privacy without leaving the room. 

In the meantime, you occupied yourself by texting your dad about your first day at the new job. He’d been your biggest advocate when you decided to seriously pursue a degree in palaeontology, and had been pestering you with emails all afternoon, asking for details. When you made the big move to Canada for this job, he had stayed behind in rural North Dakota, where he had raised you and your younger brother by himself. 

\------ 

**DAD** : Are you ignoring me?? 

**DAD** : It’s past 5:00, I know you’re done 

**Y/N** : Chill out, dad. Give me a few minutes 

**DAD** : Easy enough for you to say! I’ve been waiting a decade to hear about your first day of work! 

**Y/N** : I’ll call you in an hour. Watch the game or something while you wait 

**DAD** : If you don’t call in exactly 60 minutes, I’m driving out there! 

**Y/N** : -_- 

**DAD** : XD 

\------ 

“Okay, the guys said they’ll need a few minutes to tidy things up,” Tim relayed, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Would you, umm, be interested in stopping for, uhh…a bite?” For some reason, the man seemed to be struggling to get his words out. This morning, he’d seemed so eloquent – what had happened in the last 7 hours to change that? 

“Everything alright, Dr. Murphy?” you questioned gently. “Didn’t realize food was such a serious topic for you. I’m all for it, though!” Tim let out a short bark of a laugh, though you hadn’t thought what you’d said was particularly funny. 

“I just, uh, don’t talk to a lot of gir—women, I mean,” Tim grimaced, realizing how stupid he probably sounded to you. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; it seemed that he would need a moment to collect himself. In an attempt to help him out with what you assumed was just a moment of social anxiety, you pulled out your phone and tapped on the restaurant icon beside your navigation app. 

“Well, what’s good to eat in Drumheller?” you wondered. “I’m starved, and I ate all the food I brought at lunch. You must know some decent places in town, since you live there.” Tim pressed his lips together in appreciation and held out his hand. You placed your iPhone in his hand and tilted your chin up so you could see what he was typing. He tapped one of the options and scrolled down the page in search of a menu, which he uploaded immediately to your phone. 

“How do you like Thai food?” 

* * * * * 

An hour later, you found yourself seated cross-legged on the floor of Tim’s small living room, scooping noodles and bits of peanut out of a takeout container with a pair of chopsticks. Tim sat across from you, frowning as he dabbed at the front of his shirt with a napkin. One of his roommates had slammed the front door a minute ago, startling him; in his surprise, he had spilt a spoonful of tom yum soup onto his shirt. 

“Just spray some stain remover on it, and it’ll come off,” you reassured him through a mouthful of spicy, peanutty goodness. “Use cold water, and don’t put it in the dryer until you’re sure the stain is out.” Tim nodded, only partially listening to you. This was one of his favourite shirts, and his concern was evident by the deep wrinkles on his forehead. 

“So, Dr. L/N, all caught up on those requests yet?” A voice you didn’t recognize called out from the kitchen. You leaned over to look past Tim’s head, and saw a man around your age standing in the doorway to the living room. “Sorry to interrupt,” he apologized, flashing you a toothy grin. He wore a baseball cap with the same logo Tim’s shirt bore: a striped tyrannosaur dipped forward into a run. 

“They can’t make me quit that easily,” you replied, wiping a bit of peanut sauce from your lips with a napkin. “You work at the museum as well, I assume?” Tall and tan, the man waltzed toward you and stuck out a hand, which you shook firmly. 

“Jackson Grant-Sattler, Paleoecology,” he offered by way of introduction. Your eyes widened a bit as you recognized his surname; there was no way he coincidentally held the names of two incredibly famous palaeontologists and wasn’t somehow related to them. He guessed your thoughts, and with another rye smile, confirmed your suspicions. “And yes, my parents are exactly who you think they are. Alan and Ellie adopted me when I was in elementary school.” 

“Wow,” was almost all you could think of to say. “That’s awesome.” 

“I’ve lived and breathed this stuff all my life,” Jackson said, ruffling his seated roommate’s hair playfully. Tim’s brows knit together in annoyance, but he said nothing to stop Jackson’s (hopefully) good-natured harassment. “Just like Tim, here, actually. He’s the real genius. I’m sure he’s told you all about Jura—” 

“I should show you around the place!” Tim interrupted, springing to his feet. He shot Jackson a look of anger, something you hadn’t thought possible of the mellow Dr. Murphy. “Come on, Y/N,” he insisted, offering you a hand. “The room we’re renting out is upstairs; has it’s own bathroom and everything.” Jackson held his hands up in surrender, and stepped back to give Tim some space. You waved politely over your shoulder as you followed your office mate down the hall towards a steep wooden staircase, and Jackson returned the gesture, adding a flirtatious wink. Tim groaned internally as a pang of jealousy struck him unexpectedly – Jackson always got the girl, and he hated the idea that you might be his next. 

“What was that about?” you murmured, waiting until the sound of your footfalls on the wooden stairs would muffle your conversation. “Do you two know each other outside of work?” Tim nodded, but his eyes were blank; he didn’t seem interested in entertaining this line of questioning. 

“My grandfather worked with his parents back in the day,” he said sharply, dismissing any further discussion on the matter. “Doesn’t matter, though. Here’s the room, right down here.” Tim’s eyes brightened as he opened the door to the room at the end of the hall, and as soon as you stepped in behind him, you felt a smile creep over your face. 

The room was decorated in kitschy but adorable wallpaper, complete with lush palm trees, dinosaurs footprints, and cartoon iterations of well-known ancient reptile ancestors – three-horned triceratops, soaring pterodactyls, and brontosaurs grazing on biologically-incorrect plant life. Tim chuckled under his breath at the twinkle of excitement in your eyes – you were enamoured with the place already. 

“This is really cute,” you exclaimed, stepping past Tim to investigate a set of bunk beds positioned against the back wall. “Even has glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars. Tim, this is perfect!” Where the bottom bunk bed should have been, a small desk space had been installed to provide a workspace for whatever child had lived in the room before the current tenants’ arrival. The top bunk was accessible by a shaky metal ladder, which you figured would be easy enough to fix with a screwdriver and a trip to the hardware store. After hoisting yourself up to the top, you seated yourself on the mattress and allowed your legs to dangle over the edge. 

“Rent is pretty cheap with the four of us already living here, so you’d only have to pay like $300 a month plus your share of utilities,” Tim explained, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards into a smile as he watched you bounce yourself up and down on the mattress. After a moment, though, the height you were getting with each bounce started to concern him. “Careful now, Y/N, you don’t want to hit your hea—” 

His words came too late; the momentum you had gained caught up with you, and you smashed the top of your head against the low ceiling. Bits of ceiling stucco rained down on you, and you clutched at your scalp in an attempt to stop the pain shooting through your head. Tim was at the base of the ladder in a second, having thrown all concepts of personal space out the window. He placed one hand on your knee and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

“You’re alright. Down you come,” he tittered, reaching up towards you. As though you were a sack of feathers, he brought you down onto the floor and pulled you tight against his chest. The gesture reminded you of the way your father had always reacted to what he referred to as a ‘bump on the noggin’, or a scraped knee. It didn’t require medical attention, but a warm hug always dulled the pain in a way nothing else could. 

“Ow,” you whined softly, still clutching tightly at your head. Tim, nearly a foot taller than you, placed a hand over yours and gently tugged it away, wanting to get a look for signs of injury. He shifted your hair aside with the tips of his fingers, searching for any sign of bleeding. His t-shirt was soft, and his chest warm; it provided a distraction from the pain. 

“Just a bump,” he noted a moment later, allowing you to press your hand over the spot once more. When he met your eyes, dark and curious, Tim realized he had just hugged you, his brand-new coworker; the boundary he’d set up in his mind less than 10 minutes before had already been broken. _Shit._

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he spluttered, backing away from you. “Shit, I can’t even—wow, that was so, so weird of me. My niece always wants a hug when she gets hurt, so I just – not that you’re like my niece, she’s 5, and you’re a grown woman…” 

“Hey, it’s fine,” you promised, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. Your flesh wound was forgotten in an instant. “It’s sweet of you to care, Tim. I’m not upset. Really, it barely hurts at all anymore. Thanks for the…hug.” The word fell awkwardly out of your mouth, though you hadn’t intended it to. Although it had been unexpected, you decided that it was actually kind of nice. 

“Yeah, um, well, you should probably go,” he countered, turning towards the wall so you wouldn’t see how red his cheeks were flushing. He was beyond mortified; he’d met you eight hours ago, and had already messed things up, he thought. Just being in the same room with you made it difficult to control his ability to speak, or behave properly in social situations. 

“Oh,” you said meekly. “Well, I…does this mean you won’t rent me the room?” 

“You actually …want to rent it?” he frowned, glancing back towards you without meeting your eyes. Somehow, you weren’t angry with him – he, however, was stunned. At this point, if you requested a change of office tomorrow morning, he would completely understand. 

“Well, of course I do! This place is awesome,” you exclaimed, furrowing your brow. “Tim, it’s totally fine. Don’t even worry about what just happened. We’re cool, okay?” His expression was twisted with scepticism, but when you squeezed his arm in assurance, his fear and embarrassment seemed to melt away. 

“We’re cool?” He repeated, testing the words out. 

“Sure,” you said, nodding. “I should probably get back to my hotel now, but um, I’ll give you my number, and we can figure out when it would work for me to move in, okay?” 

“You don’t want some time to think it over?” Tim suggested. “There are a few other places in town you might want to look at as well.” Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and in them, he recognized confidence; your mind was already made up. 

“As long as you won’t mind living with your office mate, I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t rent your room,” you told him. “All your roommates seem really nice, too.” The image of Jackson winking at you flashed across Tim’s memory, and he felt a twinge of annoyance behind his eyes; he knew Jackson was going to be trouble already, if you really did decide to take the open room. You were exactly the type of girl Jackson loved to pursue, until he grew bored of it – girls who were intellectual, sweet, and kind. 

“I’ll keep the weird hugs to a minimum, scout’s honour,” Tim promised, holding up the two-fingered Boy Scout salute. He seemed more relaxed now, you noticed. 

“Sounds like a plan,” you chuckled. “Thanks again for having me over for dinner. The food was great. I’ll have to remember that place.” Tim nodded, and you followed him back downstairs to the living room, where the two of you had parked yourselves for dinner. 

“So, I’ll figure out when a good move-in date would be,” he suggested, following you as you made your way toward the front door. “Does that work alright for you?” 

“I’ll keep my eye out for a text or a call,” you smiled, grabbing your over-the-shoulder satchel bag from the coat hook behind the front door. “See you tomorrow, then?” 

“Tomorrow,” Tim nodded. “Enjoy your evening, Y/N.” He watched as you wandered to the end of the house’s driveway, where you had parked the car your father had given you as a graduation gift. A laugh burst from Tim’s mouth when he realized that the antenna of your sunshine-yellow Volkswagen New Beetle had a foam dinosaur attached to it. 

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Jackson asked, appearing suddenly at Tim’s shoulder. 

“I guess,” Tim responded irritably, side-stepping to avoid bumping shoulders with the man beside him. “Doesn’t really seem like your type, though, _Jack_.” Tim wasn’t usually a spiteful or competitive guy, but the way Jackson looked at you made his blood boil for reasons he couldn’t yet identify. 

“I think I could convince her to be my type,” Jackson assured Tim, leaving him to watch from the window as you backed out of the drive and took off towards Strathmore. 

* * * * * 

You spent the remainder of the day thinking about the events of the evening and feeling butterflies in your stomach; the new job had brought on a certain queasiness that was hard to put aside, but the idea that Tim might text or call you tonight was what really set your stomach a-roilin’. You had your number into his phone for ‘work purposes’ now, but you hoped the bronze-haired young man, whose interest in prehistoric life matched perfectly with your own, had a loose interpretation of what ‘work purposes’ entailed. 

Just before you crawled into bed that night, you felt a sharp vibration in the pocket of your housecoat. Sure enough, one Dr. Timothy Murphy, PhD., had sent you the terms of rental, as well as an emoji you were about to spend the next hour trying to decipher the mood behind. After you’d replied with an affirmation of the proposed contract, you couldn’t help but send one last message to your new coworker: 

\------ 

**Y/N** : See you tomorrow! 

Tim’s reply wasn’t immediate, but the short message he sent back – as mundane as it was – certainly felt encouraging. 

**TIM** : Looking forward to it! ;) 

“Maybe I can make it through this week after all,” you told yourself as you climbed into bed. “I’m a kickass prehistoric plant scientist. I’ve got this.” 

* * * * *

**DAD** : IT'S BEEN WAY MORE THAN AN HOUR. 

**DAD** : If I don't hear from you in the next 10 minutes, I'll be calling the Mounties to come look for you on their horses, young lady. 

**Y/N** : Seriously, Dad... 

**Y/N** : I'm not dead. Get some sleep, we'll talk tomorrow AM 

**DAD** : I'm beginning to think you just took this job to get away from me... 

**Y/N** : Gee, what gave you that impression? :/


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your friendship with Tim continues to blossom, but a piece of gossip threatens to tear it all apart. His secret is finally out.

“That’s it, you need some sunlight,” Dr. Tim Murphy exclaimed, striding into the office the two of you had shared for the past several months. He slapped a ball cap onto your head, brim backwards, attempting to draw your attention away from the report you had been slogging away at all morning. “Save whatever you’re working on there. We’re going down to that new dig site – Daniel called and said they’ve got some stuff for us both to look at.”

“Tim, I can’t,” you whined in protest, craning your neck back so you could see him. His brow was set sternly; he wasn’t about to take ‘no’ for an answer. “Seriously, I’ve been at this all morning. I can’t just stop now.” Tim leaned forward, extended an arm over your shoulder, and tapped ‘Ctrl + S’ on your keyboard. The next combination of keys he pressed closed the document; you were done for the day, as far as he was concerned. 

“Dr. Mendoza’s proposal isn’t due for another week and a half, and I know that for a fact,” Tim asserted. “I’ll walk over to her office right now and ask if she’d mind me borrowing you for the afternoon. I’m sure she’d say ye—” 

“Fine,” you grouched, wheeling your chair backwards. “I’ll come.” Tim stepped out of your way, allowing you to stand up from the seat you’d been parked in all morning. Your leg had fallen asleep an hour in, and it tingled painfully as you tried to shake the feeling out of the limb. Tim, in contrast, looked relaxed and very pleased with himself; he wore a triumphant grin, and his warm eyes twinkled, even in the dim office lighting. 

“We’ll stop at the house on the way so you can change,” he promised, waiting patiently for you to retrieve your leather satchel from your filing cabinet. As you slung the bag over your shoulder and kicked the metal drawer shut, you glanced down at your outfit with a frown. Tim’s suggestion was wise, you supposed; a skirt and flats definitely weren’t suitable for manual labour, which likely awaited you both at the dig site. 

“Can we stop for milkshakes on the way out of town?” You felt parched and were in need of something cold and sweet to quench your thirst. Tim’s smile grew even wider; he’d been craving a thick vanilla shake all week. 

“Sure thing,” he nodded, pulling the office door shut as he followed you out into the corridor. With a quick jiggle of the handle, he confirmed that it was locked. As you passed the reception desk, you reached up and slid the purple magnet beside your name into the ‘OUT’ column on the whiteboard. Norma, the research office receptionist, had instituted the board just a few weeks ago, and it was proving useful already. Tim had struggled to incorporate its use into his daily routine, but because you now carpooled to work together each day, it was safe for your coworkers to assume that if you were in, he probably was, too. 

“Don’t forget to wear sunscreen,” Norma called out behind you as you passed through the door into the museum. “UV rating is pretty high today.” Tim turned back and waved appreciatively at the receptionist. Her mother-hen tendencies were sometimes frustrating, but because of her reminders, neither you nor Tim had come to work sporting a Rudolph-red nose after an afternoon in the sun. 

Once you were out of the building, you adjusted the cap Tim had placed on your head – pink with the Royal Tyrrell logo, to match his navy one – so that the brim provided some shade for your eyes and face. While the hat kept the sun’s rays at bay, it didn’t protect you from the stifling dry heat, or the boiling asphalt beneath your shoes; earlier in the week, you were convinced that the rubber soles of your runners had melted a bit on your walk to Tim’s car. Thankfully, he had secured a parking spot beneath a shady tree in the museum’s small staff lot today. Even with the shaded parking spot, though, the inside of his hybrid sedan felt as hot as an oven when you slid into your seats. 

“Geez, if we sit out here for too long, we might get cremated,” Tim joked, cranking the key in the ignition. Blazing hot air poured out of the vents as soon as the engine started, sending you both scrambling for the air output dial. Tim’s sweaty hand brushed against yours, but the contact didn’t faze either of you any longer. After the initial awkwardness of realizing your attraction for Tim, you had figured out a way to keep things professional and friendly. Instead of snatching your hand away as you might have done two months ago, you smacked his hand as he groped for the radio dial. 

“My turn to pick the station,” you reminded him. “You got to pick this morning.” 

“Hey, that’s no fair,” he protested as he did up his seatbelt. “That drive was like 10 minutes! The dig site is a 45-minute drive at least.” 

“Aw, poor Timmy,” you whined, pouting your lip in mock sympathy. “He only got to listen to NPR for a few minutes. How sad.” Tim rolled his eyes at you, but you noticed him bite his lower lip in an attempt to stifle a giggle; he thought you were hilarious. 

“Fine, you can listen to your jazz station,” he relented bitterly. “But if the radio signal cuts out halfway there, that’s karma in action.” With a smug little grin, you kicked off your flats and settled back into your seat. The drive back to the house you, Tim, and a few other coworkers were renting together would be short, but you liked to get comfortable as soon as you could. Your one gripe about doing research for a professional organization was the dress code; the heels and skirts expected in the office environment were less than pleasant to walk or sit in. You couldn’t complain, however, about the breathable cotton shirts and khaki shorts you got to wear on dig sites – that suited you well enough. 

The stop at the house was short, just long enough to trade in your pantyhose and flats for a pair of ankle socks and hiking boots. Tim stocked a small cooler with a few bottles of water and half a bag of ice to keep them cool. Within 15 minutes, you were back on the road, had gone through the McD’s drive-thru for milkshakes, and were off to the new dig site, which lay 90 kilometres southeast of Drumheller. 

“Great suggestion, Y/N,” Tim said contently, sucking down a chilly strawful of strawberry shake. He cast a furtive glance toward you as he pulled onto the highway, and watched you flip through your book, searching for the page you’d left off on. 

This was the way of your work partnership; at least once a week, he would coax you out of the office with the promise of an interesting specimen to inspect. You would put up a short fight, conceding once Tim convinced you that there would be plenty of time to complete the bureaucratic requirements of research at a later time. He always drove, and you would read aloud from whatever book you had brought along. 

“Don’t interrupt this time, okay?” you requested, tapping on his fingers, which rested casually on the stick shift. “Save your questions for the end of the chapter.” 

“Scout’s honour.” 

“That’s what you said last time,” you reminded him. 

“Did not.” 

“Did too!” 

“Just read the book already! I’ve been waiting all week,” he groaned. 

“Alright, alright,” you conceded. “Now hush.” Tim turned the volume of the radio down, and listened intently (and with bated breath) as your voice filled the car with the biography of Alan Grant – the palaeontologist who had been one of your inspirations, as well as the man who had served as a father figure and mentor to Tim for nearly three decades, unbeknownst to you. 

* * * * * 

Another month passed by, and your work at the Royal Tyrell continued to keep you entertained and busy. You and Tim had put up a wall of shelves in the office the two of you occupied and filled them with books, keepsakes, awards, and silly dinosaur knickknacks you’d found during a search for a piece from an old exhibit Tim was positive had been stored in the museum’s dingy basement. Your friendship was growing, in more ways than one. 

To Tim’s dismay, you had finally agreed to have dinner with Jackson Grant-Sattler, one of your housemates and a mutual coworker, who’d had his eye on you since you started at the museum. After dinner and quite a few drinks, you returned to the house with an incredibly drunk Jackson, who fell asleep on the sofa soon after the cab dropped the two of you off at home. 

“Fun night?” Tim called out softly when he heard your footsteps on the hallway’s hardwood. He was seated at the kitchen table, scribbling away in his Moleskine notebook and nursing an emerald green bottle of beer. 

“Alright,” you answered, not pausing in the doorway to chat as you typically did. 

“Just alright?” Tim raised an eyebrow. “Hey, come back! I want to hear about it,” he called after you. “Y/N, please?” With a heavy sigh, you stomped back towards the kitchen door and poked your head around the corner. 

“Probably won’t go out with him again, if that’s what you’re asking,” you shrugged indifferently. “How come you’re still awake?” 

“Just writing down some field notes I didn’t get a chance to finish today,” he told you, shifting the notebook out of your view. “Nothing super important. I’ll be off the bed once I finish this beer.” 

“Well, allow me to offer you a hand,” you said, stepping forward. Before Tim could react, you’d snatched his imported beer from the table and taken a large gulp. 

“Hope you’ve had less to drink than Prince Charming over there,” Tim commented, taking his drink back. “Not that it’s my business, of course. You’re an adult. Sorry.” His face fell in embarrassment at having made such a condescending judgment about your choice to drink; he had always been respectful of your decisions and hadn’t intended to offend you. In his jealousy over the time you’d spent with Jackson, Tim had allowed his frustration to slip out in the form of a rude comment, which he regretted instantly. 

“You’re right, it isn’t your business,” you said curtly. “But I appreciate the friendly concern. I’m fine, and will continue to be fine even after one sip of your gross beer.” 

“You think all beer is gross,” Tim countered, adjusting his tone. His eyes held an unspoken apology. “You had a good time, though?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” you said, not really paying attention anymore; your thoughts were elsewhere. Your apparent disinterest in the conversation did not go unnoticed - your perceptive friend caught the difference in your tone straight away. 

“Something’s up,” he said, frowning; a deep crease formed between his eyebrows, as it always did when he was upset. “Did something…did Jackson do something he shouldn’t have?” 

“No, of course, he didn’t,” you huffed, pressing a hand to your forehead in frustration. “It’s fine. Just leave it alone, Tim. I’m tired, that’s all. Long week.” 

“Y/N, it really seems like something else is upsetting you,” Tim insisted. “Just tell me, okay? Let me help—” 

“I said leave it,” you shouted. Tim recoiled in surprise as you brushed past him and hurried out of the kitchen. Your bare feet thundered on the stairs, and Tim grimaced at the force of the sound. He’d never seen you like this before. 

I should have kept my mouth shut about their date, he thought to himself. I knew it wasn’t my business, but I had to know… 

That has to be what she’s upset about, right? 

Tim waited until he heard the high-pitched squeak of your bedroom door scraping shut before glancing back down at his notebook. A sweet little note was scrawled across two pages, declaring his thoughts and feelings for a girl he knew didn’t like him back. He tore the pages out of the notebook and crumpled them before shoving the wad of paper into the pocket of his cargo shorts. 

I’m so stupid sometimes, he cursed himself. Why did I ever tell Jackson it was cool with me for him to ask her out? 

* * * * * 

With a mouthful of toothpaste, you padded into the bathroom Tim shared with Juan, his paleozoologist friend from Guadalajara, who was already asleep for the night. Tim’s inquisitive brown eyes regarded your pyjama-clad body with curiosity; you had your own private half-bathroom just outside your bedroom on the other side of the house. Why would you have come to his? Maybe you were finally ready to talk. 

“Cute PJs,” Tim complimented. Your shorts were dinosaur-patterned, and the shirt you had paired it with was one of your favourites, and had been designated a PJ shirt due to its work-inappropriate content: two T-rex sitting side-by-side on an island, pointing at Noah’s floating ark, with a speech bubble above that read, ‘Oh sh!t, was that today?’ 

“Yeah, thanks,” you nodded, distracted. “Hey, um, can I ask you something?” You spat your toothpaste into the toilet before hoisting yourself up onto the counter beside Tim’s water-filled sink. Gently drumming your heels against the drawers, you waited patiently for him to finish shaving the left side of his upper lip before responding; you didn’t want him to nick his skin. His face was slathered in thick, white cream, half of which he had already rinsed off. 

“Depends on what it is,” he finally murmured, dipping his razor into the sinkful of water to wash the hairs out. “Will I rob a bank with you? No. Will I share my toothbrush with you? Also no. Choose wisely.” He tried to be humorous and cheer you up a bit, but when he glanced over and met your eyes, the hesitant expression on your face concerned him. 

“I, umm…heard a rumour about you, at work,” you proceeded, watching him for a reaction. “I wanted to know if it was true.” He tilted his head forward, urging you to continue, but you felt so awkward; what if it really was just a rumour, and he would think you foolish for even entertaining the thought? You had already yelled at him tonight, and brushed off his inquiries about your date – maybe he would shut your question down as payback? 

“Are you going to tell me what you heard before my stubble grows back or not?” Your friend’s gentle teasing put you at ease. In the time you’d known him, Tim had never given you a reason to believe he was anything other than kind – he wouldn’t be angry, even though you had allowed a bit of gossip to sway your thoughts about him. 

“Okay...so, um, you know how Jackson’s parents are the Alan Grant and Ellie Sattler, the palaeontologists from that Jurassic Park book we read in the car last month? The one about the dinosaur clones, and the nature park they opened in South America back in the 90s?” As the words left your mouth, Tim’s hand, which had been splashing his razor around in the soapy sink water, froze. You noticed the muscle in his jaw tense and saw his eyes shift in colour from honey brown to nearly black. Shouldn’t have brought up Jackson, you chastized yourself. Tim hadn’t seemed so pleased about your agreeing to go on a date with him, but you hadn’t realized it until your earlier conversation in the kitchen. 

“Sure. The audiobook we listened to on that one drive,” he nodded, lifting his hand back up to his cheek to continue his shave once he’d recovered from the initial shock of the question. Tim’s demeanour begged you not to ask any more, but his words entertained the question. Knowing you might very well regret continuing this conversation, you decided to press on – your curiosity and your friendship with Tim demanded it. 

“Well, Jackson…kind of mentioned that you’ve been pretty close with Dr. Grant since you were young. Is that true?” When Tim nodded again, you continued. “Okay, so, remember in his book, Dr. Grant mentioned two kids, a boy and a girl?” 

“Yes?” Tim’s voice was barely more than a whisper. 

“And…” You hesitated, sensing Tim’s intense opposition to this line of questioning. “Actually, um, Jackson was really drunk. I’m realizing now that he could have totally been making up everything he was saying,” you said, giggling nervously to derail yourself. “So…anyways, really funny, there was this girl singing karaoke tonight at the bar…” The sharp look in Tim’s eyes told you that your attempt to steer the conversation in a different direction hadn’t been successful. 

“I want to know what he said.” Tim’s voice cracked in the middle of his sentence. 

“Oh. Well, uh, Tim, I think he was just talking shit,” you protested weakly. In his agitated state, Tim knicked his chin with his razor, causing him to drop the metal tool into the soapy water. Blood started to bead where he had cut himself, but when you tried to grab a bit of Kleenex and stop the bleeding, Tim caught your wrist and held it firmly. 

“Y/N...” 

“Tim, it’s nothing, really.” 

“Just tell me, Y/N,” he pleaded. “I won’t be mad, I promise.” His face was so close to yours now that you could feel his warm, mint toothpaste-scented breath on your cheek. “Nothing you say could make me angry.” 

“Tim—” 

“Please.” 

The tiredness in Tim’s eyes broke you. Where before he had been nervous, he now looked exhausted beyond belief, as if the question you were withholding was draining all the energy right out of him. With a sigh, you relented and continued your question: 

“...He said that in Dr. Grant’s book...the little boy he wrote about was, um...well, Jackson said he—” 

“Was me,” Tim finished for you. Instead of immediately denying the story, as you had expected him to, Tim was silent. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, and you felt the wetness of a single tear as it slid down his nose and dropped onto your cheek. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “You are that Tim.” 

“Don’t say it like that,” he begged. “Please, you have to understand…you of all people have to understand me. No one else does.” His last sentence was barely more than a whisper, but his words were a knife in your heart. 

“Tim, it’s alright,” you croaked, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him against you into a tight hug. The fact that shaving cream was getting into your hair went completely unnoticed; you were too distracted by the ragged breathing in your ear. Tim shook like a leaf in your arms, but you didn’t mind. You would have waited all night, held him for hours if that’s what he needed. 

* * * * * 

Twenty minutes later, Tim was curled up beside you in his bed with a hot cup of cocoa clutched between his hands. You had helped him to finish shaving, rinsed his face clean, and tucked him into bed, and were now curled up beside him, waiting for him to gain enough courage to begin his story. The magnitude of the circumstance became clear to you the longer he stalled; he had never told anyone what he was about to share with you. 

Tim sipped at the cocoa and gave himself a chocolate mustache, which you gently wiped away with the sleeve of your sweater. He nodded in thanks, meeting your eyes for only a moment. 

“When people realize that I’m that Tim,” he eventually said, repeating your earlier words with disdain, “All they care about, from my entire life, is what happened that day in Jurassic Park. Nobody asks about my time in school, or my parents’ divorce, or how I won gold every year at the science fair. None of that matters once someone learns my name.” 

“I stop being ‘Tim Murphy, PhD’, who spent a decade studying his ass off for his career, and start being ‘Timmy who almost got eaten by a Velociraptor when he was nine’. My whole career, everything I’ve worked so damn hard for, goes right out the window.” He rested his head against his pillow and met your eyes. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t have you look at me that way. Not you.” 

“Tim, I…” There was nothing else for you to say; he had hit the nail right on the head. There was no way you could tell your friend truthfully that knowing about his childhood, knowing that he was the boy from the famous story of the cloned dinosaurs of Jurassic Park, wouldn’t have changed your view of him. Of course, it would have. 

Now, though, everything was different. Tim was your closest friend, someone you felt you could share anything with. And for the first time since you’d met him, you felt as though you were finally seeing the real Tim; he couldn’t hide any more. He had always kept such a tight hold on his personal life, even from you, for fear of people perceiving him differently. 

There had always been a niggling feeling in your mind that you’d never been able to really get to know him before. Tim had glossed over his childhood in the many conversations you’d shared; he never spoke about parents or siblings and was vague about where he had grown up. You had assumed that maybe his parents had gone through a tough divorce; maybe he was an only child or didn’t get along with his siblings. It had hurt you, truthfully, that when you had bared all the embarrassing stories of your adolescence, he hadn’t returned the favour. Now, though, it all made sense. 

“You want people to recognize you for the work you’ve done, not for something you accidentally got pulled into when you were a kid,” you acknowledged, resting your head on Tim’s shoulder. “I can understand why you’d want to keep that a secret, Tim. There’s no shame in that.” The wiry man leaned into your touch and rested his chin atop your head. A bit of cocoa spilt on his hand, but he ignored the burning sensation; having you close was all he cared about now. 

“Are you angry?” he asked softly. “I kept so much from you. So many things a good friend would have shared.” 

“Not angry, no,” you promised, absentmindedly nuzzling your cheek against the soft fabric of his shirtsleeve. “Just sad. I wish I’d made you feel safe enough to tell me, but I understand why you didn’t.” 

“It wasn’t you,” he clarified. “I never felt that you were the kind of person who would blab a secret to everyone else. And clearly, you weren’t the one I had to worry about.” Your mind turned back to the dinner you’d shared with Jackson; it was clear to you now that the man had deliberately spilt Tim’s story to get a reaction, or to change the way you felt about him. Whether it was out of jealousy or just a mean spirit, you felt angry with him. 

“I think I should slash Jackson’s tires tonight,” you monotoned. “What an asshole. What the heck is his deal?” 

“He’s jealous,” Tim said simply. 

“Of?” You were pretty sure you could guess, but wanted to hear Tim’s perspective. After all, it was now apparent that he’d know Jackson all his life. In fact, he had been a son to Dr. Grant before Jackson had, you realized now that you knew the whole story. 

“Alan has always kept an eye on me, from the time we met until…well, even now, really,” Tim explained. “My dad and mom went through a pretty ugly divorce, which is why Lex – my older sister,” he clarified, “ and I had gone to visit Grandpa Hammond that day at the dinosaur park. Grandpa had offered to keep an eye on us while my parents were sorting some legal stuff out, and it just so happened to be the same time that Alan and Ellie were there to check out the park.” He sipped at his cocoa and stared up at the ceiling, reminiscing on what you now realized was probably the most traumatic day of his life. 

“After everything that happened, I think Alan felt a bit responsible for Lex and I,” he speculated. “At first, he would call every week to check in. Were we talking to a counsellor about what had happened, he would ask, or were we having any trouble with nightmares? We were talking with him on the phone for more than an hour a week, which was more than we saw my dad, really.” A funny look stole over Tim’s face, but he shook it off after allowing himself to entertain a thought for just a moment. You didn’t ask, figuring that he would share if and when he was ready. 

“He had Ellie figure out what Lex was into at the time, and sent her a subscription to a fancy computer programming magazine for her birthday. I, of course, got all sorts of books about dinosaurs and prehistoric plant life. Alan made sure to keep me up-to-date with all the latest research. He and Ellie would even fly us out to their dig sites for summer visits.” 

“What about Jackson?” you inquired. “He must have seen the way they doted over you and Lex. Did he maybe feel left out?” Tim snorted cynically; he had very decided feelings about Jackson’s motivations and feelings. 

“They were fantastic parents, and he took them for granted constantly,” he said darkly. “Ellie put her heart and soul into raising him - eventually gave up her career so he wouldn’t have to be home without them when they travelled for work - but all he did was sneak out of the house and ‘borrow’ the car when she went to bed. Alan was more strict, wanted Jackson to have boundaries and grow up to be a decent person, but that kind of backfired, too...” he trailed off, deciding that maybe some stories were better left untold. 

“Sorry, I don’t want to change the way you see Jackson,” he apologized. “He’s a good guy now, really. We just have history. Plus...” Tim opened his mouth to continue, but stopped himself suddenly; his cheeks flushed red, and his eyes flickered away from yours. 

“What?” you asked, leaning forward curiously. 

“Nothing,” Tim said quickly. 

“No way!” you exclaimed, smacking his arm with the back of your hand. “You never keep secrets from me. Come on, Tim, just tell me.” He pressed his lips together and glanced at you sheepishly; clearly, he felt embarrassed about whatever his secret was. 

“It’s just...well, Jackson’s real issue is that he thinks there’s something going on between us,” Tim explained, his words slow; he didn’t want to misspeak and mess things up with you. 

“What kind of something?” 

“You know,” Tim shrugged, brushing your question off as if a relationship between the two of you was an impossibility. “That we’re uh, I don’t know, dating or something? Sleeping together? Who knows, really. Obviously, that would never happen.” The finality in his voice tore the shred of hope you had of Tim being interested in you. 

“Oh. Yeah, of course not. We’re just friends,” you said agreeably. “Totally nothing happening here, haha.” Your demeanour changed instantly. Tim took notice of your voice, which lost the confidence it had formerly held; your body seemed to shrink, too. 

His brow knit together in concern, and he shifted his hand out from under the blankets to set a comforting hand on your shoulder. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you sniffed hard and looked up toward the ceiling to prevent them from streaming down your cheeks. The last thing you wanted was to cry like a baby in front of the guy you’d been crushing on for months. 

“Did I say something wrong?” He backtracked, running through his words to try and identify where he had misspoken. As you tried your best to contain your tears, you felt a twitch of anger in the back of your mind. What made it so impossible that you and Tim would ever be together? 

“Am I not your type or something?” Your voice trembled as you spoke, and you hated how weak you sounded. You hadn’t spent the last decade trying to prove your worth as a researcher and scientist just to cry over a man who wasn’t interested in you. 

“Well, I just meant that you don’t typically go for guys like me,” Tim corrected himself. “I’m nothing like Jackson, or any of the other guys from the movies you’ve said you think are cute - Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio, or whatever. I’m just...” He seemed at a loss for words. 

“Just what?” You had no idea what he was talking about. 

“Just...this,” he said finally. “I’m a scrawny, pale, nerdy scientist who gets excited over finding fossilized dung. I’m the guy who forgets his glasses on top of his head and spends an hour looking for them. Last month, I left a sandwich in my desk, and only found it because of a trail of ants I saw crawling around on the floor." He stopped himself for a moment, took a deep breath, and continued, despite how fast his heart was beating at the idea of finally sharing his feelings. 

“Y/N, I’m the guy who wasn’t brave enough to just admit that I like you when Jackson told me he was going to ask you out. That’s why we won’t happen.” You regarded Tim with a look of sheer disbelief. 

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you exclaimed, sitting up in the bed. You grabbed the pillow you had been using and smacked Tim repeatedly over the head with it. He managed to transfer his cocoa onto the bedside table without dumping it all over the bedspread, but just barely. 

“Hey, what gives?” he shouted, throwing his hands up to block the blows. “Stop it, stop! Y/N!, come on!” Once you were satisfied that you’d given him a good beating for his stupidity, you relented and put the pillow back onto the mattress. 

“Do you really think I’m so shallow that I wouldn’t date you because you’re skinnier than Jackson?” You scooted closer to Tim, who was now cowering beneath the blankets, and rested your head on his pillow; your noses were 6 inches apart. His pupils dilated as you came closer, and his eyes seemed to shift colours again, from dark back to the sweet golden-brown of maple syrup and honey. 

“It made sense at the time,” he mumbled sourly, refusing to meet your eyes. Taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger, you tilted his face up towards your own. 

“I like that you’re dorky, Tim,” you admitted. “I love how your brain works, how every aspect of a problem always fits together like a puzzle in the end - even when it allows you forget where your glasses are, or leave a PB&J in your desk. What matters is that you’re kind and sweet, and a hard worker. You cry at all the sad parts in movies, you can never get your hair combed so that it all lays down flat, and you can’t resist touching every cat and dog you see when we’re out.” 

You knew it was a risk, but decided to just jump into the deep end and give it a go. “Tim, I adore you. You’re my favourite person in the world...so I hope you’ll still be my friend.” With that, you leaned in and pressed your lips gently to his. His body stiffened in surprise at first, but after a moment, he returned the favour and slipped a hand up to cradle your face. You drew yourself closer to him, deepening the kiss by tugging him forward by the front of his shirt. A throaty groan of disbelief tore from Tim's chest; he had been imagining this moment in his head for months, and now, it was finally - miraculously - happening. 

Just then, Tim’s bathroom-mate Juan chose to make an appearance, wandering in through the partially open bedroom door without knocking. Generally, when anyone in the house wanted privacy, a door-closed policy was the way to avoid company wandering in. Not having anticipated this turn of events, neither you nor Tim had thought to kick the door shut. 

“Timó, did you move the toothpaste?” Juan asked, yawning; he had been so close to falling asleep but remembered at the last moment that he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet. “I can’t find it anywhere...” He stopped in his tracks when he realized what he was interrupting. Tim jerked backwards, and you shoved your face into the pillow beneath you, hoping Juan had been too sleepy to see anything well. 

“Try the medicine cabinet,” Tim offered, his voice strained. “Just bought some new stuff earlier today; Jackson used the last of it to clean something this morning, so I got a new tube.” 

“Perdón, Timó” Juan apologized, averting his eyes. “I’ll, ah, check the cabinet. Sure thing.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he did his best to mask how pleased he was with this development; he had been teasing Tim for months about Tim’s romantic interest in you. 

When the two of you were alone again, and the sounds of Juan moving around the bathroom and hallway had ceased, you lifted your head slightly to peek up at Tim. His lips were pressed together in a poor attempt to hold back his laughter. 

“What?” you asked, scrunching your face in mock annoyance. “What’s so funny, Dino-boy?” Tim wiggled himself down in the bed until his face was level with your own. 

“You kissed me,” he smirked. “Me, the biggest dork of all time.” He shifted his face forward and planted a gentle peck on your forehead before resting the tip of his nose against yours. 

“Yeah, well,” you said, wracking your brain for an intelligent or flirty reply; you settled on, “You’re pretty cute for a dork.” Tim’s hand wiggled around beneath the blanket in search of your hand, and when he finally found it, he gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“So are you, Dino-girl.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I wrote this out mostly in Word, and then instead of posting here first and then to Tumblr as I typically do, I edited it all in tumblr. And that means that none of my formatting like italics came through. I truly am too tired to type in all the necessary commands to get my italics here...so if you want to see the emphasized bits, please just check out https://www.deacy-dearest.tumblr.com for the post there. Plus, I always use cute gifs for my stories there!
> 
> xoxo, Chloe


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim takes Reader to NYC to meet his long-time friends - palaeontologists Alan Grant and Ellie Sattler - but the going gets tough after a break-in at the museum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops this got sadder than I intended in the end. TW: Discussion of unmanaged anxiety and negative self-talk.

“You’re still on the same page you were half an hour ago,” Tim observed placidly, gazing at you over the frames of his glasses. His black moleskine notebook was balanced on his knee, and he held a pen between his fingers; your restlessness had distracted him from whatever he was writing, apparently. “Something’s on your mind, Y/N. What is it?” With a huff of frustration, you let your book fall into your lap.

After several months of flying under the radar with your relationship, especially at work and around your roommates, Tim had finally insisted upon you accompanying him to the bi-monthly luncheon (and subsequent weekend stay) in New York he had scheduled with Dr. Alan Grant, who had been his mentor and friend for decades. He might as well be introducing you to his parents, you thought, because Alan was essentially a second father to him. You hadn’t expressed any concern until now – the day before the planned event – because you didn’t want to disappoint Tim, or make him think you were second-guessing your relationship. 

“It’s this weekend with Alan. What if he doesn’t like me?” you blurted out. “What if he thinks my work is subpar, and that you should be spending time with someone more on your level intellectually, or something?” 

“We’re dating, sweetheart,” Tim corrected gently. “You’re nervous about meeting someone important to me, and you don’t want him to disapprove of me dating you. That’s what I’m hearing – is that correct?” He took your extended silence as an affirmation, and abandoned his place in the easy chair to join you on the sofa. As soon as he had taken a seat, you crawled into his lap and allowed him to wrap his arms around your waist. He held you close, and while his presence was an immediate reassurance, you still couldn’t help but worry about the event planned for tomorrow. 

“Alan is brilliant, Tim,” you bemoaned, resting your back against his chest. “Of course I care what he thinks. He’s basically your science dad.” 

“Well, he’ll love you, because you’re important to me,” Tim assured you. “And your PhD thesis, as well as your other work has been excellently written and rigorously studied, so he’ll respect you as a professional. Believe me, you don’t have to worry about this at all, Y/N.” 

“Did you tell him _why_ you’ve invited me?” you inquired, arching an eyebrow, “Or does he think this is just a lunch with a ‘close colleague’ or something?” 

Before Tim could answer, a door down the hall creaked open, and Jackson Grant-Sattler, the only son of Dr. Grant and his wife, entered the living room. You attempted to scramble out of Tim’s lap and onto the couch cushion beside him, but he held you protectively. If your relationship was serious enough that he was introducing you to Alan and Ellie, it seemed silly to continue hiding it from your housemates and coworkers. 

“Sorry to interrupt your chat,” Jackson said, glancing between you and Tim; his apology was severely lacking in sincerity. “Just wondering if you could deliver a package to my mom while you’re in New York, Tim. I meant to send it last week, but I forgot, and now the stupid thing won’t make it in time if I try shipping it through the postal service.” 

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Tim nodded, maintaining an impassive expression. “Either Y/N or I should have room in our luggage. What did you get her?” At the revelation that you would be accompanying Tim to New York, Jackson’s presence somehow managed to grow even more hostile. He gritted his teeth, but forced himself to respond to Tim’s question. 

“It’s one of those resin vases that looks like a blue river through the wood, or whatever. Found it at some craft thing in Calgary a while back.” Jackson didn’t seem terribly interested in discussing the gift he’d purchased his mother, instead training his attention on Tim’s hands, which were wrapped around your waist. _If that man had laser vision,_ you thought, _he would have burned Tim’s arms clean off by now._

As usual, Jackson was struggling to conceal the jealousy in his eyes. Both you and Tim had noticed his sullen expression whenever Jackson was forced to interact with you, starting immediately after you had (politely) turned down his offer of a second date in favour of moving forward in your relationship with Tim. Because the two of you had preferred to keep things quiet, Jackson was under the impression that you just weren’t interested in him, which wasn’t something he was used to experiencing. 

As Tim had mentioned, Jackson had been raised in a privileged lifestyle, with the belief that he could have anything he wanted. His mother had doted on him, he had done well in school and sports, and attended a prestigious college (on his parents’ dime, of course). For the first time, though, he had struck out; you had turned him down, and worse, you had chosen someone he felt was inferior to him. In your mind, Jackson’s petty attitude was another reassurance that you’d made the right choice; Tim was kind and respectful, and genuine in all the ways Jackson was not. 

“Just leave the gift on the kitchen table, and I’ll be sure to pack it tonight,” Tim requested, plastering a lackluster smile on his face. Jackson then left the room without so much as a ‘thank you’ or ‘see ya later’, leaving the two of you alone once again. 

“What a polite guy,” you remarked sarcastically, leaning your head back to rest in the curve of Tim’s shoulder. “Can’t believe I turned him down for _you_.” 

“I promise Alan is much more personable than his son,” Tim smirked, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “And hey – if you feel yourself getting nervous at any point this weekend, just take some deep breaths and give my hand a squeeze; I’ll be right there beside you the whole time. Trust me,” he said, suddenly serious, “Alan _will_ adore you. There’s not a reason on this earth for him not to.” 

* * * * * 

Dr. Grant and Dr. Sattler, now in in their 60s and 50s respectively, had relocated to New York in recent years after accepting teaching and research positions at Columbia University and NYU. They had spent nearly a decade living out of a trailer at their dusty Montana dig site, and were ready to settle down. Real estate pricing in the big city was exorbitant, so instead of buying a property, the couple had opted to rent an old townhouse in Brooklyn. As was the apparent tradition, the lunch date with Alan was held at a small local restaurant within walking distance of the Grant-Sattler residence; it was Tim’s favourite place to eat in New York, he had told you at least twice. 

“So Y/N, I read through your thesis this past week,” Dr. Grant said, folding his white cloth napkin over his lap. “I passed it along to my wife, Ellie, and she also really enjoyed it. She was hoping to speak with you more over dinner tonight about it; palaeobotany is her area of study as well, if Tim hasn’t mentioned it already.” 

“I’ve read some of her work as well as yours,” you nodded, nervously impaling a bit of salad on the end of your fork. “I wish my work at the Royal Tyrrell gave me more opportunities to look at marine plant life (the subject of your thesis), but I’ve mostly been studying terrestrial plants because that’s what Tim’s team has found at the bone bed.” Your boyfriend gave your leg a reassuring squeeze beneath the table, which was his way of saying that you were doing great; nothing felt awkward or forced in the conversation, and it was clear by Alan’s attentiveness that he was interested in what you had to share. 

“I know Tim’s work receives a significant amount of funding, and so it’s high on the museum’s priority list, but I hope he’s given you ample time to work on your own projects,” Alan expressed, glancing between the two of you with a look that can only be described as paternal. “Consulting on someone else’s work can be scientifically valuable, but can also drain your motivation if it takes too much time away from your own passions. Ellie and I have both been guilty of that over the years, and it’s sometimes difficult to acknowledge.” His words were wise, and it seemed to you that his words came from a genuine place of love and concern for Tim’s (and your) wellbeing. 

“That’s really great advice, Dr. Grant,” you said appreciatively. “I’ll remember that.” Tim’s eyebrows knit together guiltily as he considered Alan’s words; he certainly asked for a lot of your attention when it came to his digs. He would have to look at the timesheets on his computer to get an accurate account of the time you spent answering his consult requests, or being physically present on his dig site. 

“You look like you’ve eaten an olive or something, Timmy,” Alan teased, reaching out gently and tapping the back of Tim’s hand. “Everything alright in there?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Tim mumbled. “Just thinking about work; I’ve got some deadlines coming up for funding, and you’ve just reminded me of something I haven’t done yet.” The tone of his voice was off, and both you and Alan picked up on it. Exchanging a quick glance between the two of you while Tim picked away at his lunch, you made the joint decision to change the subject for the time being. 

“So I hear you have a new book coming out, Dr. Grant,” you inquired, leaning forward with interest. “Is it about the remainder of your work in Montana, or are you continuing your fiction series?” Tim didn’t look up, but his shoulders relaxed with the change of subject. 

“Oh, have you read my novels?” The corner of Alan’s mouth tugged upwards in a half-smile. 

“Tim and I usually read them aloud on our drives out to dig sites,” you explained, pulling his most recent novel from the central compartment of your backpack. “We started _Diggin’ up Bones_ during our layover in Toronto, and so far it’s my favourite one yet. Tim’s is _Mass Extinction_ , but only because he’s in it.” 

“That’s not true!” Tim protested with a laugh, re-joining the conversation. He slung an arm across the back of your chair and leaned back in his own seat, ready to connect with the group again. “It’s just a good book! Alan just used the name ‘Tim’ because it’s a popular guy’s name – it has nothing to do with _me_.” 

Alan’s eyes lit up; he knew that Tim kept up with his articles printed in various palaeontology publications, but it was another thing entirely to hear that the two of you were enjoying _Jurassic Park_ , which was – of course – a fictional tale based on events that took place at the defunct South American dinosaur park, where he and his wife had met nine-year-old Tim more than 20 years ago. 

“Don’t be silly, Tim,” Alan scolded gently. “Of course you’re in my books. In fact, I sent Lex the first draft of my next book earlier this week, and she says I’ve got your characterization to a T.” 

“So long as you don’t write me into scenes with whoever you’ve written Jackson to be, I trust you to make it an exciting story, Alan,” Tim snorted. Concerned that Tim had overstepped his bounds by speaking ill of Alan’s son, you stiffened in your seat; despite the dig Tim had dealt, Alan still managed to laugh. 

“And how is our Jackson, may I ask?” Alan inquired with a hint of sarcasm. “He must be even busier than you two, because he hardly ever calls his mother.” He made no comment on the frequency with which Jackson contacted _him_ , but you read between the lines and recognized the signs pointing to strain in their father-son relationship. Tim had said as much early in your relationship, but hadn’t elaborated out of respect for Alan and Ellie’s privacy. 

“He’s…doing well, I guess,” you answered, shooting a quick look at Tim. “He sent a birthday gift along for Dr. Sattler, right Tim?” As much as Jackson annoyed you, it only felt right to speak as well of him to his father as you could. 

“Her birthday was only, like, a month and a half ago,” Tim groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. “He thought he was early, but clearly he’s got your birthday mixed up with Ellie’s, Alan. Solid effort though, right?” A pained expression crossed Alan’s face, and he pressed his lips together for a long moment before responding. 

“Jackson called yesterday,” he spoke carefully. “I wasn’t going to say anything about it yet, but I’m getting the sense that maybe we should have a chat about his …behaviour.” 

“He’s still miffed that Y/N turned him down when he asked her out a while back,” Tim sighed, frustrated with the situation. “And he only asks her…oh, I’d say once a week or so, if she’s changed her mind yet. So if he’s upset about us being together, and me bringing her home to meet you and Ellie, I don’t have much to say to him.” 

“He…” Alan opened his mouth to speak, but seemed at a loss for words. “I think this is maybe something we should talk about at home, with Ellie. Would it be terribly inconvenient for the two of you to join us for dinner tonight? I’m sure you’ve got plans while you’re in town, but—” 

“We’d love to,” Tim answered immediately. “I’m sorry for bringing that up at our lunch, Alan. This was strictly supposed to be a ‘fun-chats, meet my girlfriend’ kind of thing, not an opportunity to complain about Jackson. He’s a good guy at heart, and I know he loves and cares about you and Ellie, even if it’s hard to see sometimes.” Alan reached out and gave Tim’s hand a squeeze, the intimacy of which made your eyes tear up a bit; his love for Tim was written clearly across his face. 

“You don’t need to apologize, Tim,” he assured him. “I just mean that this is a family conversation, and we should have it as a family. Ellie’s been worried about him, as have I, and the only way we really get to hear about him is through you. He hasn’t been in contact much, and it’s had us concerned.” 

It suddenly struck you that perhaps you should excuse yourself and give the two a moment of privacy. As a relatively new figure in Tim’s life, you felt that the ‘family conversation’ should probably happen without you. Reaching down to grab your purse, you looked to both men and gave apologies for rushing off, citing your immediate need to find the restroom. 

“This is what happens when you insist on drinking 3 Diet Cokes on the plane,” Tim teased. 

“Yeah, well, we can’t all have bladders of steel,” you retorted playfully. “See you in a few; I might take a quick peek at the dessert display case up at the front, so don’t miss me too much.” Tim tilted his face up towards you in a request for a quick kiss, to which you willing obliged. 

“Oh, Y/N, would you mind checking out what flavours of cheesecake they’re serving this week?” Alan requested, concealing his smile with his hand. “I’ll probably have some when I finish my lunch, and take one to go for Ellie. She _loves_ their desserts, but we only visit here when Tim is in town, so it’ll be a bit of a treat.” 

_How sweet_ , you thought; _they’ve got a special restaurant_. 

“Will do!” you promised, stepping away from the table. As you walked away, you glanced back and noticed that the two men had leaned in towards each other, and appeared to be jokingly arguing in whisper-tones. It warmed your heart to see Tim so happy to spend time with Alan. He’d spoken so highly of both Dr. Grant and his wife, and you had hoped that upon meeting them, you’d see right away the wonderful qualities Tim had identified to you. In the palaeontology world, the ‘great’ researchers often had a reputation – Dr. Grant included – and you were pleased that the few negatives you’d heard rumoured about him didn’t appear to be true. 

When you reached the bathroom, you pulled out your phone to check your messages and emails, and saw that you had several missed calls. Ignoring them with the thought that people had forgotten about you taking the day off, you moved onto your emails. At the top of the queue was a flagged message Norma had sent out: a memo with the heading “REMINDER TO LOCK OFFICE DOORS”. 

“Oh shit,” you murmured, scrolling through the message. Apparently, one of the offices had been left open, and it appeared as though some potentially valuable items had been stolen. Whose office wasn’t specified, but as you read on, your thoughts began to race. _If it was our office,_ you thought, _what valuables would we have left in there?_ Nothing immediately came to mind, but still you felt a twinge of discomfort in the pit of your stomach. 

After a quick stop in at the lady’s room, you returned to the table, where both Tim and Dr. Grant were now standing. Each had his phone in hand, and both appeared to be involved in serious conversations. 

“What do you mean, they ‘broke some stuff’?” you heard Tim ask, his voice much angrier than you’d ever heard it. “Did anyone take anything as far as you can tell, or are things just tossed around?” 

_Uh-oh,_ you thought. _That doesn’t sound good…_

“El, we’re on our way home right now,” Dr. Grant murmured, his voice calm but firm. “Could you start the coffee in about ten minutes? I’ll explain when we get there. Everyone is safe, but Tim just found out about a bit of an issue back at the museum.” Alan grabbed his wallet from where he had set it on the table and headed for the cash desk, probably to pay for the meals. 

_Someone broke in at the museum?_ you thought, incredulous at the very gall of such an idea. _The security there is so tight, there’s no way—”_

“Yeah, I’ve gotta go; Y/N is back from the bathroom,” Tim said quickly. “Call you back in a bit. Just take photos and send them to me, please, and I’ll let you know if I think anything else is gone.” Tapping the screen to end his call, Tim turned to you and released a sigh of frustration. 

“So apparently someone snuck in past the janitor this morning at the museum – before anyone else was in, of course – and somehow got into our office,” Tim sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Both your laptop and mine were found the dumpster behind the building by someone out for a smoke, and they were all smashed up, which is doubly infuriating.” 

“Are you serious?” you asked, your eyes wide with surprise. “What—why would someone steal computers and just break them? Wouldn’t you want to sell them?” 

“Who knows?” Tim grouched, crossing his arms. “I literally _just_ bought those stupid things, too, after begging the department to replace our ancient models for three and a half years.” He began chewing at his bottom lip, a habit of his when he was deep in thought. 

“So it was just our office that was broken into, no one else’s?” 

“That’s what Norma said,” Tim nodded. “She asked if we lock up when we leave, and I assured her that we’re both very careful about that. There was no sign of forced entry, according to security; the glass in the window was intact, and the door was apparently wide open when she came in.” Your shared office was within seeing-distance from the reception desk, so it had likely been the first thing Norma saw when coming into the office this morning. 

“I’ve seen you check the handle three or four times before, just to be sure you’ve actually done it,” you thought aloud, “and I’m the same way. Unless someone had a key, it would have been pretty tough to get in without breaking the door itself.” 

From Tim’s pocket came a tyrannosaur’s ferocious roar, the tone he had set it to play whenever he received a message. Usually, he cracked a smile at the ridiculous sound, but today his expression was flat. He opened the message, which appeared to be a photo of the office, and held the phone sideways to enlarge the photo. 

“Let’s have a quick look here,” he suggested, sliding his glasses from the top of his head down onto his nose. “We can take a better one when we get back to Alan and Ellie’s. Notice anything funky right off the bat? With a low hum, you scanned the screen, recognizing your desk as the main focus in the photo. 

“Laptop’s gone obviously,” you observed, pointing to the dust-free rectangle of desk space where the computer had been sitting. “Other than that…” Trailing off, you pinched the screen to enlarge the photo, and moved to the corner of your desk. “Shit.” 

“What is it?” Tim asked, setting his free hand against your lower back in an effort to comfort you. 

“The cord to connect my hard drive to the laptop is sitting right where I left it, but there’s nothing connected to either end. My documents were saved to the laptop, but I back everything up onto that hard drive at the end of each day.” 

“Did you back up your data anywhere else?” Tim asked patiently. “Or is there any chance you took the hard drive with you? Maybe it’s in your work bag, or you left it in your room at home?” 

“No, the hard drive _was_ my backup, and I left it at work for safekeeping.” you said, panic rising in your chest. “Tim, _everything_ I’ve done for the last _six months_ was on there.” 

“I left mine at the office too, but I can’t tell from this angle if it’s still on my desk,” Tim frowned. “It would be beneath a mountain of papers, probably. I’ll text Norma back and ask her to have a look once security is done poking around.” 

The prospect of losing both hard drives was earth-shattering, and Tim didn’t seem to be nearly as concerned as you felt. If all of the work the two of you had done over the last half year had been stolen, there would be hundreds of reports and photos missing forever; some of them might even be irreplaceable. 

“I left it right in plain sight; that was so stupid of me,” you said, sniffing hard. “Tim, what if they’re both gone, and we’ve lost everything from this dig?” Tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes, so you wiped at them with the side of your index finger. Abandoning the message he had started typing out, Tim turned towards you and pulled you into his strong embrace. 

“Hey, don’t talk like that, baby,” he soothed, swaying gently as he held you. “We’ll sort it all out, okay?” As he kissed the top of your head and held you tight against him, his words felt like a promise. “Everything will be okay, Y/N, trust me.” 

Not wanting to disturb your moment, Alan waved at Tim from the front of the restaurant, indicating that the cheque had been paid. Once you had managed to calm down enough to leave the restaurant, the three of you walked the short distance to Alan and Ellie’s house, where a bedroom had been set up to accommodate the two of you for the weekend. 

Dr. Sattler was waiting in the sitting room when you arrived, and had a fresh pot of coffee brewed in the kitchen in anticipation of your arrival. As much as you wanted to get to know her, and hear a million stories about Tim’s childhood, your anxiety about the office break-in was consuming; thankfully, Ellie was kind enough to repeat herself when you were too distracted to hear and process her questions. 

Exhausted both emotionally and physically by the end of that evening’s dinner, you excused yourself from the postprandial discussion in the sitting room with the excuse of ‘feeling a migraine coming on’, and tucked yourself into bed. Tim assured you he would be up in an hour or so, but you managed to convince him to stay with Alan and Ellie for as long as he wanted. After all, he only got to see them once every two months. 

As you lay alone in bed, you allowed the firewall you’d set up around your mind to fall; feelings of guilt attacked you immediately, and the tears you’d staunched earlier began to flow. _How could you leave something so important just lying around?_ your mind demanded. _You’re so stupid, you probably forgot to lock the door, too, didn’t you? You told Tim you always lock the door, but that must be a lie._ Despite the coping mechanisms you’d spent hours learning and practising in your therapist’s office as a teen, you allowed the negative self-talk to continue for much too long. By the end of it all, you were positive that this entire thing was your fault; in fact, you might as well have handed out keys to your office to people advertising themselves as computer thieves, for all your efforts were worth. 

The digital clock on the nightstand read 10:05 when you finally managed to calm your breathing and settle your mind; three hours of silent sobs left the muscles in your chest and back aching something fierce. Tim came to bed, just before midnight, and tiptoed through the room to be as quiet as possible. You weren’t sleeping, though, and the fact that he didn’t wake you up to say goodnight weighed heavy on your heart. _I bet he thinks it’s all your fault too,_ your anxiety assured you. _Hope you enjoy this trip, because it’s the last one he’ll ever bring **you** on._

With these thoughts filling your mind, you slipped into a restless sleep, in which you tossed and turned frequently, no matter how tightly Tim tried to tuck the blankets around your shoulders and hips. Waking you up only served to upset you more, he discovered, so he quickly had to reassess his options. 

Unbeknownst to you, he left the room in the middle of the night to wake Dr. Sattler; Tim thought perhaps she might know how to help settle you, but was forced to return empty-handed. Hoping for the best, he wrapped his arms and legs around your trembling, sweaty body and hoped that his physical presence would soothe whatever fears and anxieties were tormenting your dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What even is editing at this point? Hit me up on Tumblr @john-the-bassist if you have corrections lol

**Author's Note:**

> I was exhausted when I wrote some of this, so my apologies if it's shit. Will edit tomorrow evening - just wanted it out there.


End file.
